


Still Space

by Solstarin



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6504280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solstarin/pseuds/Solstarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fellowship encounters some cold weather, and seats around the fire are coveted. </p><p>Based off of this imagine from imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com<br/>(http://imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com/post/129449999065/imagine-legolas-sitting-on-your-lap-because)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Space

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can read it on my tumblr, here ----->https://nerddface.tumblr.com/post/129474734658/still-space
> 
> And, as always, the tumblr post has the magical replace-Y/N-with-your-actual-name function. 
> 
> Do enjoy!

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

One week prior, in Imladris…  


✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Just as Strider had knelt before Frodo Baggins, the young hobbit who had just taken on possibly the uttermost arduous task in all of Arda, Legolas parted from those who had accompanied him to the Council and presented himself.

“And you have my bow.”

And then the ginger dwarf; “And my axe.”

Y/N was quick to accompany her betrothed, striking a stereotypical (and admittedly lame) peace-sign gang pose alongside the elf.

“And my swag.” When she got strange looks from a number of people, she straightened stiffly and awkwardly added, “Also my sword as well. Sorry.”  


✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Present, somewhere just barely within Arnor…  


✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Cold weather? No problem! Y/N had grown up on the East Coast, in North Carolina, no less, with that little motto. Unless it was the snow-pocalypse, the weather had never stopped her from doing anything she typically did.

Of course, that was back in the 21st century, on Earth, where she had a heated house to go home to, and puffy winter coats made out of “the best synthetic heat insulating material on the market!”, among other little tehcnological advances to keep with her, when she had to brave the chill.

Middle Earth, however, did not have space heaters, or pocket warmers, or 100% nylon-and-recycled-polyester taffeta, goose down insulated parkas. What it did have was a rather heavy wool cloak that tugged on her throat, and a fire. (Though the warm flames were pretty alright, and even relaxing).

Her mind drifted back to her home, and the abrupt entrance into this world she once believed was nothing more than a brilliant mind’s illustration on paper. It was in weather not unlike this that she was in her kitchen making a cup of apple spice tea (her favorite around autumn), when all of a fucking sudden she and her teacup were in someone else’s kitchen entirely -one that was made chiefly of wood- and she began this adventure in another realm, if it could so be called.

It was Legolas whose kitchen she had mysteriously appeared within, and she was discovered, bewildered, when he had snuck in to swipe some of the honey cakes the cooks had prepared for the head chef’s small name day celebration.

And it was that same elf whom she eventually fell in love with, and had somewhat recently (for him it was recent- a year was probably little more than a week to an elf) began dating. Or… courting. Or whatever. Y/N still didn’t quite get how all of that worked. All she really knew was that if this went as smoothly as it had thus far, she was to marry him; after, of course, what seemed like a bazillion customs and official gifts (that were very, very specific).

Y/N massaged her forehead, half in exhaustion and half because it was just so difficult, living in a new world, with new customs and new ways of doing things. She hated having to constantly ask Legolas about one thing or another, because everyone did everything different than she’d been doing it her entire life. And thinking of Legolas, where was he?

She looked up; in the dying light of the day, she could see him stepping into the cave they’d found for shelter that night, arms full of extra firewood. He deposited the cargo behind Gandalf, across the fire from her, and then paused, looking for somewhere to deposit himself.

Y/N glanced around to see there was no more open space around the fire; each member of the Fellowship had claimed his space and Y/N knew well enough that in this chill no one would be surrendering it anytime soon. She watched Legolas look around, but as of yet he had said nothing.

“Hey, legs for days,” she beckoned suddenly. Legolas quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

Y/N patted her thighs. “C'mere. Unless you see somewhere else to sit.”

Legolas seemed conflicted for a moment before he slowly picked across the outside of the circle to her, passing behind a softly chuckling Aragorn on the way.

“Are you sure this will be comfortable?” he asked. Y/N shrugged nonchalantly.

“Leggles, babe, you can literally walk on top of snow without making footprints. You weigh like practically nothing. Now get your pretty butt down here.”

Y/N nudged the now snickering dunedâin so a red-faced Legolas could step between them, and then rather awkwardly settle in her lap. She used the cave wall behind her to her advantage and leaned against it, trying to make the situation more bearable in the long run for the both of them. Legolas was stiff on her legs, hands clasped in his own lap, and face still flushed. Y/N shifted to criss-cross her legs and adjusted her fiance so his shoulder was pressed against her own. She braced his back with one arm and found one of his hands with her free one, in half a reassurance. The prince relaxed, albeit only a little.

Across the fire, Frodo had been quietly observing the elf’s flustered seating arrangement, and he asked as the small camp settled back into calm, “How did you and Y/N end up together anyway?”

The human in question chuckled and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I was simply too fabulous. Legs here was just so taken by my swiggity swooty that he had to get in on it.”

“What is …swiggity swooty?” Sam inquired timidly. Y/N beamed at the halfling.

“It’s a meme, sweetie. You wouldn’t understand.”

Little did she know that this comment would spark a discussion that would last long into the night, about where she came from, and what her world held. And by the end of that discussion, Legolas would have fallen asleep in her lap, his head tucked into the crook of her neck uncharacteristically, as Gandalf and Aragorn finished the last puffs of their pipes and the fire dimmed into embers, its heat beginning to recede and eventually fade. But that wouldn’t matter, because Legolas’s warmth and his hands enveloping one of hers, a smile on her face, and a lingering feeling of friendship in the air was better than any North Face jacket.


End file.
